Prepared
by Deana
Summary: Aramis makes it his mission to teach d'Artagnan to always be prepared. When the two of them go on an assignment together and something unexpected happens, we find out just how prepared he is. (My entry in the 'Fete des Mousquetaires' contest for March.)


**Prepared**  
A Musketeers story by Deana  
My entry in the March 'Fete des Mousquetaires' contest.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 _Be prepared…_ a phrase that was just as important as the musketeer motto. They all knew the dangers that they could face at any time, so musketeer training wasn't limited to fighting, by any means.

After d'Artagnan had joined the garrison as a musketeer recruit, Aramis had made it his mission to drill into him the importance of being prepared. Always have a canteen of water on your horse, always carry a pair of gloves, always— _always_ —reload your pistol the first chance you get after firing it…

D'Artagnan took his teachings seriously, always listening, always obeying.

Treville saw the success that Aramis was having with their new apprentice, and when he needed only two men to deliver a letter, he sent Aramis and d'Artagnan together.

The weather is pleasantly warm and it only took a day to go to and from their destination, but on their way back, they crossed some rocky terrain and Aramis didn't notice the snake that startled his horse. When she suddenly reared and bucked, he was sent flying, to crash to the ground with a thud.

D'Artagnan watched with shock and quickly dismounted, in time to see the snake slithering near Aramis' arm. Quickly, he kicked the snake away from his friend before using his sword to slay it. "Aramis!" he exclaimed, as he knelt beside him. "Are you all right?!"

Aramis lay on his left side, wincing with his eyes tightly closed. He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out and he closed it again.

A stab of fear pierced d'Artagnan's stomach when it became obvious that Aramis was badly hurt. "Where is the pain?" he nervously asked.

Aramis tried to move, so d'Artagnan shifted him to lie on his back. Once there, Aramis reached out his right hand to fist in d'Artagnan's sleeve, breathing heavily from apparent agony.

"Aramis!" d'Artagnan said again.

Aramis opened his eyes, blinking a few times before looking at him. "My hip," he breathlessly said. "And wrist."

D'Artagnan caught his breath; a broken hip would end Aramis' career as a musketeer. "Can you move your leg?" he asked.

Aramis tried, and managed to move it slightly with a gasp of pain.

D'Artagnan was immensely relieved. He looked at Aramis' wrist and immediately saw the swelling that had already begun to form. "That's broken?"

"Yes," Aramis said, swallowing with a very dry throat.

"What do you want me to do?" d'Artagnan nervously asked.

"Wait!" Aramis breathlessly told him, eyes closed again. He winced once more and his hand tightened in d'Artagnan's sleeve as he tried to deal with the pain.

D'Artagnan pried Aramis' hand off his sleeve and held it, letting Aramis squeeze that instead, which he did, very tightly.

"Another...reason...for gloves," Aramis said, with a slight smile in one corner of his mouth.

D'Artagnan smiled back.

A few moments passed before Aramis regained the breath that had been knocked out of him, and he loosened his hold on d'Artagnan's hand.

D'Artagnan quickly let go and stood, grabbing some things off his horse and kneeling beside his prone friend again. "Here," he said.

Aramis opened his eyes when a hand slid under his head and a canteen touched his lips. He drank the water gratefully, wincing when his head was lowered back down.

"Can you be moved at all?" d'Artagnan asked. "Those can't be your only injuries."

"Nothing else broken," Aramis told him. "Just bruised."

D'Artagnan nodded. "How do we set your wrist?"

Aramis moved as if trying to sit up, but pain seared through his left hip and he gasped.

D'Artagnan put his hands on Aramis' shoulders, to keep him flat. "What are you doing?!"

"I can't...set it...lying down," Aramis told him between gasps.

"Then tell me how," d'Artagnan bravely said.

Aramis tried to catch his breath as pain spread through his body. "Have you…ever…set a bone…before?"

"No," d'Artagnan admitted. "But a situation like this is something that I need to be prepared for, so I'm ready."

Aramis admired his bravery. He painfully pulled his arm closer so he could see his wrist. It was more than obvious that it was broken, and he could see the protrusion of the broken bone that had thankfully not come through the skin. He moved his arm towards d'Artagnan, who gently took it in his hands. "Push down hard on the protrusion while twisting up the other side."

D'Artagnan swallowed nervously, but nodded. Without stalling, he quickly did as Aramis said, and a *snap* filled the air.

Aramis gave a cry of pain at the agony and reflexively tried to pull his arm away.

D'Artagnan had the good sense not to let him, holding Aramis' arm tightly so that his newly-set wrist couldn't move.

The pain was awful, stealing the breath from Aramis' lungs. He panted desperately for air, covering his closed eyes with his other hand. It seemed to take forever before he could breathe, and when he finally moved his hand away from his face, he found that d'Artagnan had splinted his wrist using the sheath of his own dagger, and was wrapping it with a piece of his ripped shirt.

"I'm sorry," d'Artagnan said. "I should've given you something to bite on."

Aramis shook his head. "It's fine." His voice was hardly more than a croak. "You're doing…very well."

D'Artagnan finished wrapping Aramis' wrist and gently set his arm down to the ground, before reaching over to undo Aramis' weapons belts and sash.

Aramis closed his eyes, saying nothing as d'Artagnan worked. He was becoming aware of other nasty pains in his body, and had a feeling that his entire left side was one huge bruise.

Suddenly, Aramis reopened his eyes. "Bella!"

D'Artagnan sighed. "She bolted…that's why I used my shirt to wrap your wrist instead of the bandages in your saddlebag."

Concern for his beloved horse filled Aramis. He knew that she'd return to the garrison, but there was always the chance that someone could find and steal her before she arrived.

"She'll be fine," d'Artagnan said.

Within a half-hour, they'd diagnosed the rest of Aramis' injuries, made him more comfortable—if such a thing was possible—and had a fire going.

Aramis was laying on his bedroll, reclined against d'Artagnan's saddle. It'd been painfully difficult, but they'd managed to get Aramis on it by rolling him onto his right side and shoving it under him. Once he was on it, d'Artagnan carefully pulled him on the rest of the way. "Thank you," he said, grateful for his help.

"Of course," said d'Artagnan. "Is there anything else I can do?"

Aramis shook his head. His entire left side from his shoulder to halfway down his leg was turning purple and blue from bruising. He thanked God that none of his ribs were broken, and even though he had a bump on the side of his head, he didn't have a concussion. His hip and wrist had taken the full brunt of the landing. "I'll be fine," he said. "The others will search for us, after Bella returns to Paris alone. We just have to wait."

D'Artagnan nodded, frowning when a chilly wind blew.

Aramis closed his eyes again as he dealt with the pain, and he reopened them when a blanket was suddenly laid over him.

D'Artagnan quickly went over to the fire and came back a moment later holding a cup. "Here."

Aramis obediently drank the tea that his friend held to his lips. It was warm and soothing, and chased away some of the chill that he felt not only from the weather, but from his body's reaction to his injuries. "Thank you."

D'Artagnan nodded.

Aramis took a careful breath, not wanting to jostle his body. He wanted to compliment d'Artagnan on the excellent job he was doing, but a flare of pain from his wrist had him wincing instead.

Nighttime slowly fell and it grew much colder. Aramis was known for feeling the cold much more than his friends—even more so when injured—so d'Artagnan gave him all of the blankets.

"Keep one," Aramis told him.

D'Artagnan shook his head. "No, the fire is enough for me."

"I insist," Aramis said, trying not to make his shivering noticeable.

"No, _I_ insist," d'Artagnan countered.

Aramis sighed but knew that if the roles were reversed, he would do the same. Closing his eyes, he tried to sleep, but the pain that throbbed through his body wouldn't let him.

D'Artagnan watched Aramis, knowing that he was suffering; it was obvious from his pale face and the strain around his eyes. D'Artagnan could easily see that his friend was trying not to openly show it, and shook his head. "You have at least one broken bone, why are you fighting so hard to wear a mask?"

Aramis reopened his eyes. "What?"

"It's not as if it's your _pride_ that's been injured," said d'Artagnan. "There's no one here but me and I would never judge you for showing pain. What you're suffering is bad enough without trying to hold yourself back."

Aramis sighed. "I don't want people to worry about me. It's a habit."

"Well break that habit," said d'Artagnan. "I know that it hurts. All you're doing is making it even harder for yourself."

Aramis pulled his good hand out from under the blankets and held it over his eyes.

D'Artagnan put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. "Let go. I'll worry more about your unnatural silence! I know that I haven't known you for very long, but I _do_ know that a quiet Aramis is not normal."

Aramis didn't expect his words, and chuckled. It was a big mistake, for the motion sent a wave of stabbing pain through his bruised ribs and he sucked in a breath.

"Don't hold it in!" said d'Artagnan, giving his good shoulder a light shake.

Aramis' control was broken by that and he accidentally let his breath out, which made him cough when he tried to inhale again. The pain increased dramatically and his body instinctively trying to curl up on his good side.

D'Artagnan held him flat, knowing that moving too much would only hurt even more. "Let it out," he said. "Let it out."

Aramis groaned, unable to stop himself. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and panted short breaths, trying to get enough air without increasing the pain.

D'Artagnan kept hold of him, and Aramis could hear him saying things that he assumed were supposed to be comforting, but he couldn't really make out the words. His ribs were sending waves of pain through his midsection with each breath, his wrist was shooting stabs up and down his arm, and his head was throbbing.

Something cold suddenly touched his face, and Aramis realized that d'Artagnan was patting a wet cloth over it. He opened eyes that he didn't remember closing, to see his friend's face hovering above him.

"Take it easy," d'Artagnan said.

Aramis closed his eyes again, enjoying the feel of the cloth as it wiped the cold sweat off his skin. It sent a shiver through his chilled body, though, making him wince as it jostled his injuries.

D'Artagnan finished and put the cloth down, rearranging the blankets over Aramis and squeezing his good shoulder.

Aramis remained quiet as his breathing slowed down and his brain sent him into a half-conscious state.

D'Artagnan stayed awake all night, remaining beside Aramis to guard him from further danger or harm. By morning, Aramis was aware again, and seemed to be hurting less

"Some of the pain has dulled," he said.

D'Artagnan smiled. "That's wonderful! Do you think you can ride?"

Aramis pulled his good arm out from under the blankets and held it towards him.

D'Artagnan took it and slid an arm under Aramis' shoulders, gently pulling him upright to sit.

Aramis' breathing increased and he closed his eyes, but protested when d'Artagnan halted.

Unsure if he was doing the right thing, d'Artagnan pulled him up the rest of the way, before leaning Aramis against himself to take pressure off his hip.

Aramis leaned his head against his friend, breathing heavily. The motion had increased the pain, and he wished that he hadn't moved.

D'Artagnan reached for the nearby waterskin and held it to Aramis' lips, who drank it gratefully.

"Thank you," Aramis whispered.

D'Artagnan put it down and kept hold of him. "Are you handling this all right?"

Aramis nodded, closing his eyes as he waited for the pain in his hip and ribs to ease. It took a while, and he remained slumped against his friend.

"You're not fit to ride," d'Artagnan said.

Aramis knew that he was right. "We can't stay here forever. The others will likely reach us before midday."

D'Artagnan knew that he was right; they hadn't been too far from Paris when Aramis was thrown from his horse.

Aramis tried to pull away from d'Artagnan to sit up on his own. He winced and closed his eyes again, but managed to stay upright.

D'Artagnan took the opportunity to feed Aramis and check his injuries. His wrist was stable within the makeshift splint, and his bruises had deepened in color, some of them looking positively hideous.

"You're gonna be off duty for quite a while," d'Artagnan said.

Aramis sighed. "I know."

It was less than an hour later when galloping horses could be heard, and Athos and Porthos appeared within view following Bella, who went straight over to Aramis.

Aramis smiled and stroked his hand down her nose.

"What happened?!" Porthos exclaimed, as they quickly dismounted.

"A snake startled Bella into throwing Aramis," said d'Artagnan. "This is the first time he was even able to sit up."

Both of them knelt beside Aramis to look him over. "What are his injuries?" Athos asked.

"Broken left wrist, bump on his head," said d'Artagnan. "No concussion. His whole left side from top to bottom is badly bruised, especially his hip and ribs."

They were dismayed to find out about his wrist, each of them knowing how awful the pain was from a broken bone.

"How bad is it?" Porthos asked.

Aramis smiled slightly, his face terribly pale. "I'll live."

"That's not what he asked," said Athos.

"It hurts," Aramis amended, knowing that it would be ridiculous to say otherwise. "But I'll live."

"Let's get you home," Porthos said. "You can ride with me."

Quickly, they packed up the campsite, but getting Aramis mounted was a serious issue.

"I think he has to ride side-saddle," said d'Artagnan.

Aramis sighed. "Get me up and we'll see."

Porthos scooped him up into his arms before setting him down on his feet, holding onto him tightly lest he fall.

Aramis gave a gasp of pain when he tried to put weight on his left leg.

"I think d'Artagnan's right," Porthos commented.

"This should help," d'Artagnan said.

Everyone turned, to see that he'd placed a folded blanket on the saddle, to prevent its hard exterior from hurting Aramis' hip even more.

A minute later, Aramis was mounted thanks to Porthos, side-saddle, as d'Artagnan had suggested. The blanket under him was definitely helping, and he was grateful.

Soon after, they were riding back towards Paris. Aramis was leaning against Porthos' chest, eyes closed against the pain in his body from the horses' movement.

Bella walked beside Porthos' horse, occasionally making soft grunts as if she was trying to talk to Aramis.

The ride back to the garrison took all day and evening, as they had to go slowly with Aramis' injuries. It was late by the time they returned, and Treville was there to greet them.

"Does he need a doctor?" Treville asked.

"No," Aramis answered before the others could.

Everyone looked at d'Artagnan, as if wanting his opinion.

D'Artagnan was slightly surprised, before realizing that he'd been the one to take care of Aramis after he was thrown, and would know more about his condition than the rest of them. "No," he agreed. "His wrist is set and he doesn't have a concussion."

"And a doctor can't do anything about bruises," said Aramis.

Treville was relieved and they brought Aramis to his room and put him to bed. He was so relieved to be lying on something comfortable that he fell right to sleep.

Morning rose quickly, and Aramis woke feeling like a carriage had hit him. He groaned before he opened his eyes, and the first face he saw was d'Artagnan's.

"How do you feel?"

Aramis blinked for a moment. "Fine."

Porthos' laugh filled the room. "I told you, d'Artagnan, it doesn't matter that we know what his injuries are; he'll always say that he's 'fine'."

"So he wasn't exaggerating," said d'Artagnan, as he poured a cup of water from a pitcher on the nightstand.

"About what?" Athos asked.

"He was in terrible pain but trying to hide it," said d'Artagnan, helping Aramis drink the water. "I told not to, and he said it's a habit, to make us not worry."

Porthos sadly shook his head. "Not an exaggeration. When you checked his ribs, you saw the sword scar, right?"

D'Artagnan nodded.

"Stabbed in combat and we didn't even know until he collapsed an hour later."

"Don't forget the gunshot wound," Athos reminded Porthos.

"Yeah," said Porthos. "Right here," he pointed with his thumb to his own right shoulder. "During another battle. Aramis was gone for a couple of hours—unconscious somewhere, obviously—and we scoured the place lookin', only for him to walk up and ask what we were doin'. He was covered in blood so I grabbed him and asked it he was all right. He said 'fine' before fallin' over, out-cold."

D'Artagnan wasn't sure whether to laugh or sigh. Porthos' telling was humorous, but it really wasn't a laughing matter.

Everyone looked at Aramis, who had an unreadable expression on his pale face.

"Look, he's doin' it right now," said Porthos.

"Doing what?" asked Aramis.

"Pretendin' that it doesn't hurt," Porthos answered.

Aramis sighed—carefully, before quickly changing the subject. "D'Artagnan," he said. "I'd like to thank you, for taking care of me."

D'Artagnan nodded. "Of course, there's no need for thanks."

"My goal has been to ensure that you're prepared for whatever may happen," Aramis said. "Everything you did since Bella threw me has shown me that you _are_ prepared."

D'Artagnan was surprised.

"You did everything that you needed to do," said Aramis, before looking at the others. "He set my wrist without hesitation."

Porthos grimaced. "Not pleasant." He gave d'Artagnan a slap on the shoulder. "Well you've certainly cemented your place in our circle! Setting one of Aramis' bones or relocating one of his joints is a rite of passage!"

D'Artagnan shot Aramis a shocked look.

Aramis smiled slightly. "I've dislocated my left shoulder so many times that it's a wonder it still stays in place."

"I'll keep that in mind," d'Artagnan said.

"See? Prepared," said Aramis. He shifted slightly and gave a gasp of pain, closing his eyes.

D'Artagnan grabbed the hand on his good arm. "Don't hide your pain for our sake," he said. "Let it out or you'll only make it harder to handle."

Throbbing stabs shot up and down Aramis' arm and through his ribs. He groaned, automatically squeezing d'Artagnan's hand. Once the pain lessened, he relaxed and reopened his eyes.

D'Artagnan again showed his preparedness by using his other hand to pour Aramis more water, which he had at the ready.

Athos and Porthos watched before giving each other a nod of agreement. Yes, d'Artagnan would fit into their group very well.

THE END


End file.
